What Waits Below

The cold embrace of the ocean wrapped around Mark as he descended into the inky depths. His helmet light cut through the water, casting a narrow beam that revealed the long, rusted pipe he had been sent to inspect. The pipe ran along the seabed, disappearing into the black void that lay beyond the reach of his light.

His breaths echoed loudly in his ears, each inhale and exhale a reminder of the thin barrier between him and the crushing depths. Mark had been diving for years, but there was something about this job that made his skin crawl. The briefings had been normal, routine even, but the location—a spot notorious for shipwrecks and strange occurrences—had unnerved him.

The comms crackled to life in his ear. "How's it looking down there, Mark?" It was Jerry, his partner topside.

"Pipe’s seen better days," Mark replied, his voice steady despite the growing unease gnawing at him. "Some corrosion, but nothing too bad. I’ll start the repair now."

"Roger that. Keep us posted."

Mark nodded, though Jerry couldn’t see it, and set to work. He tried to focus on the task at hand, but the oppressive darkness around him seemed to press in closer with each passing minute. Every so often, he would catch a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye—an unnatural twitch in the water, a shadow that didn’t belong. But whenever he turned his head to look, there was nothing.

“Jerry, you getting any weird readings topside?” Mark asked, his voice tinged with a hint of nervousness.

“Everything’s normal, Mark. Why, you seeing something?”

Mark hesitated. “I don’t know… maybe it’s just my eyes playing tricks on me.”

“Stay focused. You’re almost done.”

Mark exhaled sharply and returned to his work, but the sense of being watched grew stronger. The ocean was too quiet as if every living thing had fled, leaving him alone in the vast, empty void. And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t alone at all.

Then he saw it—a glint of something in the distance, just beyond the edge of his light. It was quick, gone as soon as it appeared, but it sent a jolt of fear through him. Mark froze, his heart hammering in his chest. He strained his eyes, peering into the darkness, but there was nothing. Just the void, endless and empty.

“Jerry… I think there’s something down here with me.”

The comms crackled. “What do you mean? You sure it’s not just a fish?”

“No… this felt different. Bigger.”

A long silence followed. “Mark if you’re spooked, you can come back up. We can send someone else down if needed.”

Mark wanted to agree, to abandon the job and get out of the water, but something kept him rooted in place. He glanced back at the pipe, then into the darkness where he thought he had seen the movement. His curiosity and fear were locked in a battle, each pulling him in opposite directions.

Suddenly, the water around him seemed to shift, a ripple passing through it. Mark’s breath caught in his throat as he turned his light toward the disturbance. His heart dropped as he saw it—an enormous, coiling mass, slithering through the water with a grace that defied its size.

“Jerry… Jerry, there’s something here!” Mark’s voice was shaking now, panic creeping in.

“What’s happening, Mark? Talk to me!”

But before he could respond, something wrapped around his leg—something cold and slick. Mark screamed, thrashing as he was yanked backward with a force that knocked the air out of his lungs. His light swung wildly, illuminating the thing that had grabbed him.

It was a tentacle, thick and sinewy, pulsing with a sickening, otherworldly glow. Mark’s mind reeled as he was pulled through the water, and then he saw it—an immense, nightmarish creature, a behemoth that defied description. Its form was a mass of writhing appendages, eyes that glowed with a malevolent intelligence, and a gaping maw that seemed to stretch into infinity. It was a Lovecraftian horror, something that should not exist in this world.

The creature’s eyes bore into him, and in that moment, Mark’s mind shattered. The sheer impossibility of what he was seeing was too much to comprehend. He was nothing in the presence of this ancient, eldritch god.

Then, as suddenly as it had grabbed him, the tentacle released him. Mark floated in the water, his mind a fractured, screaming void. He felt the pull of the surface, and soon his fellow workmen were dragging him back to the boat.

When they pulled off his helmet, Mark’s eyes were wide, unseeing. He was muttering, incoherent words spilling from his lips, his body trembling with terror.

“Mark! What happened down there?” Jerry’s voice was frantic, but Mark couldn’t answer. He couldn’t speak of the horror that had gazed upon him, the terror that now filled his every thought.

All he could do was stare blankly at the sky, his mind lost to the depths, forever haunted by the thing that lurked in the darkness below.

We thought it wasn’t real… we were wrong

We thought it was just a joke, a stupid internet meme blown out of proportion. The Backrooms—endless, yellow-lit hallways, damp carpet, and the unsettling buzz of fluorescent lights. We laughed about it, and dared each other to "no-clip" through reality and enter this nightmarish dimension. It was supposed to be a fun, spooky game. But nothing about it was fun. Not after we found ourselves there, not after we realized the Backrooms were real.

It was a chilly Friday night when the five of us—me, Chris, Jen, Mike, and Sarah—decided to put the meme to the test. We gathered at the old, abandoned office building on the edge of town, the one with the reputation of being haunted. It seemed like the perfect place to mess around, to see if we could somehow "no-clip" into the Backrooms.

"Come on, it’s just a stupid internet story," Mike had said, laughing as we walked through the decrepit halls of the building. "We’ll just pretend we’re there, take some creepy photos, and freak out the guys on Reddit."

We joked about it, trying to scare each other with exaggerated tales of people who had supposedly vanished without a trace. But when we stumbled into that one room—a room that shouldn't have existed—our laughter died in our throats.

The walls were yellow, stained with age and decay. The buzzing of the lights was too loud, too real. The air smelled musty, like mold and something else—something metallic. We stood there, frozen, staring at the endless corridor that stretched out before us.

"This… this can’t be real," Jen whispered, her voice trembling.

But it was real. And when we tried to leave, we found ourselves back in that same hallway, no matter which direction we ran. Panic set in quickly after that. We split up, thinking maybe if we covered more ground, we could find an exit. It was a mistake.

The first to go was Chris. We heard his scream echoing down the hall, a blood-curdling sound that chilled us to the bone. We ran towards it, but when we got there, all that was left was a smear of blood on the wall, still fresh, still dripping. Chris was gone.

"Something’s hunting us," Sarah gasped, her face pale with fear. "We need to stick together!"

But it didn’t matter. The Backrooms were endless, shifting, and the creatures—whatever they were—were always one step ahead of us. We saw glimpses of them: tall, distorted figures with too many limbs, eyes that glowed in the dark, and mouths that stretched into grotesque smiles. They moved with an unnatural speed, always just out of sight, always watching.

Mike was next. He was the bravest of us, always the one to take the lead. But bravery meant nothing here. We found him slumped against the wall, his face frozen in a silent scream, his eyes wide and empty. Whatever had taken him had done so silently, swiftly. We didn’t even hear him cry out.

Panic turned to despair. Jen was sobbing uncontrollably, and Sarah was muttering to herself, trying to stay sane. I tried to keep us together, to find some semblance of a plan, but it was hopeless. The Backrooms were a labyrinth, a nightmare with no escape.

Jen disappeared without a sound. One moment she was right beside us, and the next, she was gone. We searched frantically, but there was no trace of her, no sign of struggle. Just… gone. Sarah and I were the only ones left.

We stopped running after that. What was the point? We were dead anyway, just waiting for our turn. We found a corner, a small alcove where the lights flickered less, and huddled together. Sarah was crying softly, her tears soaking into my shoulder.

"I don’t want to die," she whispered.

"I know," I whispered back, though I had no comfort to give her. I was just as terrified.

The last thing I remember is Sarah being pulled away. One of those creatures—its long, clawed hand wrapping around her ankle—dragged her into the dark. Her screams were cut off abruptly, leaving me alone in the silence, in the buzz of the lights.

Now, I sit here, in this forsaken corner, with nothing but a pen and a piece of paper I found in my pocket. I’m writing this as a warning to whoever might find it, though I know it’s futile. There is no escape from the Backrooms. The creatures that dwell here are relentless, and they will find you. They always do.

I can hear them now, their whispers growing louder, and closer. I know I’m next. So, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. The Backrooms are real, and if you’re here, it’s already too late.

They’re coming for you, just like they came for us.